


Cliffhanger

by tehta



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cliff-Hanging, Climbing, Dark Irony, Doom, Dubious Sanity, Gen, Humour that veers off into something else, Ice-climbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehta/pseuds/tehta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Climbing partners get very accustomed to saving each other's lives. The habit can prove hard to break, as Findekáno and Maitimo discover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cliffhanger

The air in the forge was hot as soup, but, of course, nowhere near as nutritious—which was a pity, as Maitimo was getting hungry. Unfortunately, the sky outside the window still held the golden glow of Laurelin, so supper was a long way off. He bent back over his work: a candle-stand, elaborate enough in design to hold his attention and tax his skills, but not so very different from yesterday's bow-rack and the previous day's incidental table… Maitimo sighed. Perhaps his oddly distracted mood was caused not by hunger, but by tedium.

In all, when his father's youngest apprentice informed him that he had a visitor, he felt rather relieved. After dropping the day's project off on the pile of scrap metal, he walked outside into the crisp afternoon air, refreshing as a draught of cider.

"Good day, cousin!"

So, the visitor was Findekáno; Maitimo's father's half-brother's son. As he returned the greeting, Maitimo could not decide whether he was surprised by this visit. On the one hand, the two of them got on well, and tended to spend family occasions in each other's company. On the other hand, this was not a family occasion.

Moreover, Findekáno's outfit looked rather odd. His tunic was greyish and rather plain, suitable for travel, but he had chosen to accessorize it with a bright sash, draped over one shoulder to form a sort of sling into which he had inexplicably tucked his right arm. A new fashion? Surely not: Maitimo tried to be au courant with the latest trends, and he had not heard of this. And of course he could not well ask, not without revealing his ignorance.

"How are your parents?" he asked instead.

"Well enough. A little angry, perhaps."

Blast it! What had Father done now? Parents could be so vexing. "I am sorry to hear that.”

“In fact, they have forbidden me to go anywhere near Taniquetil. At least until I develop some common sense, they said."

Maitimo pondered these statements for a moment. "How come?" he asked at last.

"My arm." Findekáno lifted his sashed elbow slightly in demonstration, then winced. "Turns out the bone broke when I fell on it, can you believe that? It has never happened in all the times I fell off my horse. But I guess a horse is considerably shorter than a mountain... Not that I was very high up,” he concluded, with a touch of disappointment.

“So... you were climbing up Taniquetil?"

"Yes, I tried the north-eastern cliff. You know, the one by the apple orchard."

"But why? The secondary path starts in that very orchard.”

"I know, but the cliff is much steeper.”

"Of course it is.” While Maitimo felt glad that the sash was a medical item and not a fashion accessory, that was his only source of satisfaction in this whole perplexing exchange. “Indeed, it is because of the cliff’s steepness that nobody ever goes up the mountain that way.”

"Well, I wanted to check whether it is possible."

"Again: why? I mean, people avoid steep approaches for a good reason, which is that they might fall off, as you have just—" Maitimo realized that he was being rather tactless. "At any rate, I hope your arm mends quickly."

"So do I! I was doing very well until a rock broke off under my foot. I had found this crack—I think it goes all the way to the snow line. I think that next time, with good balance, I might make it."

He was obviously in earnest. Maitimo itched to ask him whether he had bumped his head in the fall, but, on reflection, decided that it would be better to abandon the topic altogether.

"So, anyway... are you going to that fountain-dedication ceremony next week?" he asked.

"Sure. And I did consider approaching you then, but then I thought: why waste time?"

"Approaching me? For what purpose?”

"Well, I do not want to break any more bones..."

"I am glad to hear it. I imagine it feels rather uncomfortable."

“It does, but that is nothing compared to how annoying it is to have just the one good arm. You cannot imagine the inconvenience! So, in the hope of avoiding such frustrations in the future, and also perhaps as a distraction, I have decided to develop a mountain-climbing safety system. And I could use your help.”

"It seems to me," said Maitimo as rationally as he could, "that the best mountain-climbing safety system would be the one suggested by your parents. That is, staying off the steepest parts of Taniquetil."

"Ah, but where is the fun in that?"

"Where is the fun in an activity you know runs a high risk of failure?"

"Right, I forgot that your side of the family never does anything unless it is guaranteed to come out perfect." Findekáno's smile held no trace of malice, but his indulgent air was just as infuriating. Somehow, Maitimo felt challenged, as if his courage was in question.

“What sort of help are you looking for, anyway?” he asked. “What do you want me to do? Pad the foot of the mountain with pillows?"

"No, I already tried that, and it obviously was not enough. What I need is some means of attaching myself to the mountain, so if I fall, I will only fall so far. Something portable, since I will need to carry it up with me. I thought… Perhaps a metal device I could slide up that crack, with a loop to attach a rope to?”

"What sort of device?" Maitimo was intrigued in spite of himself. “Something spring-loaded, perhaps?”

"Yes, why not? In any case, something so important should be designed and forged by an expert smith, and I am sure you will find it more fun—and less futile—than making and then melting endless pieces of wrought-iron furniture."

"There is nothing futile about honing one's skills! And what do you expect me to do with the furniture, if not melt it? Everyone I know already has more than they need."

"That is exactly my point. Why not make something someone needs for a change?"

"Besides, what you really need is more complicated than a single object. You want a system that will keep the length of free rope as short as possible to minimize your fall distance, with a secondary device to protect you whenever you are moving the first. Or even several extras, for backup. A fall could generate some pretty strong forces."

"Those,” said Findekáno with a grin, “all sound like great ideas."

"You probably should not put all the devices in the crack, either... You want to distribute the load, so they will need to be placed—" No doubt about it, Maitimo needed his sketching-board. "Oh, come into the work-room. Now, where is that apprentice? I need to let Father know I will be late for dinner…"

 

***

 

“The things you talk me into...”

“Come on, Maitimo, you know you love it!” Findekáno’s eyes shone out of the snow-laden gloom. “Well, you do not hate it. Not really. Or, at the very least, you are not bored. You did complain that you were, at court.”

“So I did.” Maitimo took a moment to look downward, at the arduous length of cliff-face they had already climbed, then upward, at the intimidating distance that remained. The wind shifted; ice crystals hit his upturned face, scouring it, and the ropes attaching him to the wall creaked. “And this does make a change from council meetings, I grant you. But as for boredom... I have spent the last hour dangling halfway up a mountain, watching you struggle up an ice-shelf, failing—and falling—each time. As an overall experience, it is no less repetitive than your brother's speeches."

But far more heart-wrenching, he thought—but did not say: if his foolhardy cousin did not fear the long falls, revealing his own concern would help no-one. Once again, he checked the rope connecting them together.

"Well, thanks for stopping my falls, in spite of your ennui," said Findekáno cheerfully and obliviously. "Ice is tricky. And if you think you could do better—”

“I could, in spite of my lesser skill—if I had gear for climbing ice. Which I would have brought, if you had told me more about the route."

“I did not know what we would find. Exciting, is it not? Anyway, there is no such thing as gear for climbing ice.”

“There is now. I invented it sometime between your ninth fall and your twelfth.”

“What is it, then?”

“An array of spikes for your shoes, and your hands. To anchor you in the vile substance.”

“That might work." Findekáno stared up the cliff. The crystals struck again, and he shook his head hard to dislodge them, braids flying. "I do not suppose you could make some now? Out of the rock-spikes we have left?"

"Sadly, I have left my portable forge at home."

“We must bring it next time. But, Eru,” Findekáno’s bright eyes turned upwards, sweeping over the buttresses of ice, “what a beautiful mountain. Imagine how it will feel to finally reach the summit.”

“Nobody will care.”

“We will.”

Their eyes met again, and—in spite of the cold, the worry, the entirely superfluous amount of snow—Maitimo just had to smile at the thought of a simple moment, a pure experience to be shared between two people only. In his complex family, in his grandfather’s sophisticated court, such moments were rare.

Findekáno smiled back. “See? You do love it.”

 

***

Maitimo stared downward, straining, and even dragged his free hand up to rub at his eyes.

Was he hallucinating again? The suspicion worried him: staying sane was every bit as important as staying alive. He still had an Oath to fulfill, and both death and insanity would hurt his poor prospects even further. And, no matter how appealing, how restful, both of those conditions sounded, it was important to remember that, with Mandos’ healing no longer an option, they were likely to be permanent.

But no, this did not feel like a hallucination. Not entirely. The part when the valley had sung a song from his youth, and he had sung back, had been a little surreal… but echoes were a legitimate phenomenon, one he knew well. Perhaps he had started the exchange, after all. The flow of time could get a bit confusing sometimes, here in the mountains.

No, what the situation really felt like was a memory. He knew--he was certain!--that he had real, true recollections made up of exactly the same component parts: the rock wall, barren and inhospitable; the iron chain that anchored him to it, well-forged and well-anchored and reliable like a trusted friend; and, there below him, within shouting distance, a trusted friend in the flesh, busy scanning the wall as if mapping out a climbing route.

The rock-chain-friend memories were some of his favourites, too. At least, some of the most helpful. They contained so much physical discomfort: strange physical contortions, sharp rocks, freezing wind and rain seeking out chinks in his clothing, as if driven by malice--and all ignored in the name of a higher cause. Maitimo had made much use of them: had occasionally managed to recast Morgoth’s actions in the same light, as a form of particularly bad weather, something to be endured without personal engagement. And oh, how it had infuriated the Enemy to have his ill-will ignored! Perhaps that was why he had finally hung his captive out of his sight.

“Hold on, Maitimo! I think I can make it!”

The voice floated up from the foot of the cliff, as familiar as the figure that stood there. This was part of the memory, as well! How many times had Findekáno shouted those same words, back in the days of--

Something in Maitimo’s chest clenched, as if a rope had been pulled too tight.

How many times had Findekáno shouted those same words -- and been proven wrong? How many times had he fallen? How many times had Maitimo felt the force of that fall as the line between them prevented a visit to Mandos?

“All right!” shouted the familiar voice. “Climbing!”

“No! Wait!”

That second voice, so hoarse and torn, sounded so unfamiliar that it took Maitimo a moment to realize that it was his own. He considered what it had said.

He knew this wall, its surface, the rock it was made of. At times, it seemed to be all he knew. And so, he knew that it was fragile, prone to breaking, like Morgoth’s promises. No question about it: this was a cliff that could not be climbed with safety, not even with the gear he had once forged.

Beneath him, Findekáno had paused, frowning upwards. But such inactivity would not last; it never had. And then… How Morgoth would laugh, when he heard of the heroic futility of this brave attempt, even though he would never understand the depth of the calamity: the loss, from this world, of a true and bright soul.

No. It must not happen. Maitimo would not allow it.

“Findekáno!” he shouted. “Listen!”

His ribs ached with the effort. He did not have the strength to describe the wall’s perils -- but then, when had discouragement, or even claims of impossibility, ever worked on his brave cousin, once he had set his heart on an objective? No, there was only one thing he could do. Was that not a bow, slung across his cousin’s back?

“Findekáno! You must shoot me.”

It was not a betrayal of the Oath, not at all. Findekáno’s death would drive him mad, no question, so the Oath was already doomed, in either case.

“What?” Findekáno’s confusion was profound, and probably due to that long-unused voice. Maitimo tried again, focusing on his enunciation.

“Shoot! Me! With! Your! Bow!”

Findekáno did reach back to touch his weapon, but then dropped his hand.

“No!”

“You must!”

“No!”

What could one say to convince him? “Please. I-- I am in pain. Please end this.”

“No!” Findekáno shook his head from side to side with great violence, braids flying. “I will save you! Just hold on. I am coming.”

“Findekáno!” Even across the distance, Maitimo’s eyes sought his cousin’s. He summoned all his strength, tried to put it all -- all of himself, all that remained -- into his gaze. “This is the only way! Trust me!”

Those final words came to him unasked-for and strange, out of those mountain-memories where trust played such an important part. To his surprise, he saw at once that they had made a difference: Findekáno’s chin dropped, and his shoulders rounded, as if in expectation of a blow.

“Trust me,” Maitimo repeated.

This time, when Findekáno’s hand went back to his weapon, he did not let it fall.

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. I would like to thank Eveiya and Himring for helpful suggestions.  
> 1\. There are also several other people who supported me in my tastelessness, and who thus deserve my gratitude, if not the world's.  
> 2\. This fic has a very long history! The first part (titled "Lovers? No, belay partners") appeared on my LJ in, er, 2006? I was wondering why Findekáno was The Valiant, and also climbing a lot at the time, so this headcanon made a lot of sense. The second part (titled "The Cliff and the Ice") was written for B2MeM 2013. And the third part was added just now, in spring-summer 2014...  
> 3\. ...as a potential entry for Huinare's June of Doom and Gloom darkfic challenge.  
> 4\. I apologize for any potential mood whiplash injuries caused by this story.  
> 5\. I cannot believe I am finally writing about one of the most popular scenes in the fandom. What's next? The Fall of Gondolin?


End file.
